


A Spark of Hope

by Sleepless_Malice



Series: Tumblr Drabbles [5]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Aredhel deserves better, Blood, F/F, Gift Fic, Mild:, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 17:44:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13299975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleepless_Malice/pseuds/Sleepless_Malice
Summary: written for @nyolofinwe's birthday





	A Spark of Hope

**Author's Note:**

> written for @nyolofinwe's birthday

Despite the gloominess of Nan Elmoth, Aredhel’s days have recently become bright and radiant like the sun above, which hardly finds its way through the dense leaf-canopy of the ancient forest.

As she escapes the wooden house the day is still at its beginning, drops of dew wetting her feet as she steps out onto the narrow path that leads her away, the twilight around even gloomier than during the day. But her eyes easily become accustomed to it.

With childish excitement hammering against her breast, she wraps her skirts around her as she hurries her steps and disappears into the forest. Deeper and deeper, until all burdens of the life she lives fall off her shoulders.

_ Away. _

_ Away from all the misery. _

At last, she is free.

Awake. Alive.

_ ‘One day,’ _ she recalls, words whispered to her in hours as no coherent thought would form itself in Aredhel’s mind,  _ ‘Not long shall we be separated. I promise you.’ _

Far away the nightingales sing, and to Aredhel it is as if the birds are speaking to her, whispering, guiding her the way, just as it had been for weeks.

In search for game, she had accidentally stumbled upon her, hair midnight blue dancing in the wind. Unmoved she had stood there, yet as her eyes flickered over Aredhel’s face, she had smiled.

_ Knowing. _ Breathtaking and radiant, eyes sparkling like the star-spangled sky above.

By then, she knew it hadn’t been an accident. She must have watched her.  

_ ‘Today is the day.’ _ Aredhel does not first know it for certain, yet then she does. With every fiber of her being she feels it, lives it as joyous excitement begins to flare in her stomach, hard and fast, coiling and vibrating.

Fingers buried inside each other, breath raw and ragged against hot skin, they have plotted how the wretched creature’s life shall find its end. Kisses speaking of promises, hard enough to call forth the metallic taste of blood. Another promise? Foresight?

Perhaps it is both.

 

*

“Lúthien,” Aredhel says, catching her breath when at last she finds her.

A smile. An inviting gesture.

Without doubt or question, Aredhel steps closer and obeys her, sinks into the offered embrace with a fluttering heart.

The necklace of pearls flexes around Lúthien’s throat as she speaks. “The day has come.” A pause. A kiss against Aredhel’s ear, lingering. “You are nervous.”

Indeed, Aredhel is.

“You are  _ too _ nervous.”

A sigh. How should she not be?

Lúthien’s arms, a moment ago securely placed against Aredhel’s back, come to the front where jeweled fingers undo the lacings of Aredhel’s gown.

Lúthien doesn’t hesitate. She never does, laughter like the chatter of bird heralding her actions, just like now and so easily Aredhel could lose herself in it. Lacings undone Lúthien brings one arm back around Aredhel’s waist and in anticipation Aredhel finds herself trembling against it.

Warm lips press against the damp skin of Aredhel’s throat, against her ear, and then, Lúthien bends her head down, licking along Aredhel’s nipple, hard and still somewhat sensitive from the last time they have met.

She whines and moans, and encourages Lúthien with clawing fingers in her hair, does everything she never does with the one she does not love in the slightest, delighted as a hand brushes against her thigh. With ease a finger finds its way inside her, another one, too, as against her breast Lúthien recites the plan they’ve hatched together the night they first have met.

She pants and murmurs incoherent words into the morning air as nervousness gives way to frantic anticipation, a bloodlust she had never known.

 

*

An hour later, skin sticky and her gown red from blood, she sinks down between Lúthien’s spread legs, the trophy of her late husband’s precious sword beside them as she repays Lúthien for all her kindness.

  
  
  



End file.
